


cornflowers

by IcanSeeTheStars



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Introspection, Wilbur Soot-centric, he's not dead for plot reasons, mild hurt no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcanSeeTheStars/pseuds/IcanSeeTheStars
Summary: lol techno rejected the fd so lets make it into a headcannon lol laugh out loud haha funny
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Kudos: 25





	cornflowers

**Author's Note:**

> this has literally 0 editing and no beta so enjoy my 2 am word vomit good night

“You weren’t there for me Techno. You weren't there for me. I was at my worst and I needed you and you weren’t fucking there...”

He trails off at the end of his sentence, allowing his voice to get drowned out by the loud and bitter Antarctic wind. Wilbur doubted that Techno would have even been able to hear him if it weren’t for the fact they were practically hugging each other, pressed up shoulder to shoulder. Techno’s cloak, which they were sharing as a makeshift blanket, barely trapped enough heat to keep them alive, let alone comfortable. Regardless of the source, any extra warmth was graciously accepted. 

It’s a long time before Techno speaks, too long. The sky is getting lighter, shifting from a depressing gray to a slightly different, lighter shade of gray. Wilbur sighs inwardly, it’s been like this for a couple weeks. The winter nights are long and cold, with only a few sparse hours of daylight to break up the monotony of darkness, hours that wilbur has to spend inside. Inside Techno’s damp, concrete basement with the flakes of ancient yellow paint on the wall and the abandoned racoon nest in the corner.

He’s grateful for the housing of course, it's not like Techno forces him to stay in there all the time. It’s just that it's dangerous. That's what Techno says. It's always dangerous for wilbur. In the nighttime there are the monsters. The mindless creatures that can't be kept away by tall tales and children’s stories of fearless warriors dawning masks and shiny black armor. Techno says he’s not yet strong enough to fight them all off on his own. Techno’s wrong, but Wilbur’s not about to deny him.

In the daytime there’s the guards, Dreams personal, private military. Tommy says Wilbur used to hate them. (Some things never change) He and Tommy would mock them behind their backs, throwing sticks and pebbles until they were found out. Then they would run away laughing and screaming, holding on tight to whatever illegal drugs or merchandise they had stolen that time. Wilbur has trouble believing the guard was ever something to laugh about, there’s nothing funny about it anymore. 

As if it wasn’t enough, losing half his memories in an explosion (which apparently he caused. He has trouble believing that one too) he now has a bounty over his head, for helping and housing a fugitive. Tommy thinks he’s a burden. He's not. The younger boy refuses to tell Wilbur what he did. It's okay though. It’s okay because he remembers Tommy, hell, he practically raised Tommy. He’s a good kid, one who doesn’t deserve half the shit he’s gone through. He’s lost everything, and at the very least Wilbur has his own belongings. 

Techno gave him a chest, where he stores his own items, however few they may be. His own chest, and a desk, with a small glass mason jar sitting on top. Right now it's empty, but in the summer he’ll find the blue flowers they used to pick as kids. He knows they grow around here, they have to, the environment is perfect. They grow behind the trees and in the bright green meadows they would chase each other around for hours. The patches of blue flowers that would cushion his fall when Techno would inevitably win their sparring matches. Every time he would fail and every time he would get right back up and demand a rematch. Again and again and again. Always ending up right back in the dirt, with the flat of a blade pressed against his chest. He would find the flowers that were only there in the happy memories. He would find them and then he would make more happy memories and everything would be good again. 

“You're being dramatic.” 

Right. He brushes away thoughts of flowers and memories, remembering where he is; the edge of a cliff, at least a mile away from anyone or anything, sometime around four in the morning. Spilling his guts. Fuck. 

“I’m being dramatic…” He echoes back, drawing his knees up to his chest. By some rare circumstance it’s managed to get colder. Maybe it's because of the gaping inch or two of space now separating them. One of them has moved, be it subconsciously or not, and Wilbur would give anything just to go back to five minutes ago. Before he started this pointless conversation, if you could even call it that. Back to when it was still perfectly dark and his head was still resting on his friend’s shoulder. He hopes that they’re still friends when this is all over, that if he can't go back in time he can skip to the part where they’re back at home by the fireplace. Techno’s broken glasses are resting on his nose as he reads his book. Wilbur’s tried to pick up one of techno’s “vintage novels” but he’s fallen asleep before page 30, with Tommy curled up by his feet. 

“I was busy you know,”

Wilbur bites his tongue, using every bit of willpower to let Techno finish his thought. Busy doing what? You’ve said yourself that you're ‘retired.’ Busy tending to your turtles, or is it your bees that are more important than me? 

“What is it you want me to do? You want me to go parading around the nation signing autographs for every little kid who thinks I’m their hero?”

Wilbur regrets not interrupting him. So I’m just a little kid to you. Another fan, another nameless face. So there’s really nothing that could possibly make me stand out, nothing that could possibly make me a priority. 

“In case you happened to forget, I’m also exiled. I’m also being actively hunted down but at least I have the sense to defend myself, hey, at least I can hold my own in a fight-” 

Wilbur looks up from his shoes just in time to see the instant regret flash in his eyes. He can say a lot about Techno but not once, not once has he insulted something Wilbur genuinely cares about, something he’s working on. Maybe that’s why he got up after every sparring match. Because the aftermath was only validation and advice. Friendly banter and trash talk, sure, but more than enough “you’ve improved at this” and “try this next time” to match. 

“I’m sorry-”

“You’re different now.” 

Not an insult, just an observation. 

“You’ve changed.” 

Techno shakes his head ever so slightly, suddenly very interested in the sheet of ice he’s been idly fidgeting with. Most of his hair has fallen out of it's braid and is now hanging loosely over his eyes. Half lidded eyes with heavy bags underneath them, Wilbur notices. 

“I know. I know but Wilbur, it's been a while I guess. Look, I don't know what you remember, but if it's just the good bits, I'm assuming not much past 17. I guess you don't really know me anymore but I guess, I guess I don't know you much either..”

“Techno, right after, after the explosion,” Wilbur begins carefully. 

“Techno do you know who the first person I called for was?” 

He pauses for a moment before Techno realizes he wants a response. He opts for eye contact instead. 

“It was you.”

He looks away. 

“It was you, and then it was Tommy. Do you know which one of you came? Do you know which one of you came Techno? Do you know which one of you is a fully armed, stable, adult, who couldn’t care less about the country? Do you know which one of you is a traumatized, child veteran, who just watched his own nation crumble beneath his feet? I bet you can guess which one of you helped me, I bet you can fucking guess.” 

For the first time since he showed up on Techno’s doorstep, holding Tommy’s hand, holes in his clothes and snow and his hair, Wilbur raises his voice. 

“You were there in the ravine, you were there during the second revolution, you were there when you needed something, and when you got what you wanted you left. You just left.” 

Wilbur stands up, shaking off Techno’s cloak and brushing snow off his pants. 

“You’re like a brother to me, but as soon as I had nothing to do with your idealistic “morals” I’m worth nothing to you. You cast me aside because you don't care about anyone but yourself and your stupid anarchist fantasy.”  
Wilbur pauses for just a moment, before his eyes begin to widen, looking almost as shocked as the boy staring up at him. The look is gone just as fast. 

“You remember the ravine?” 

“That's all you have to say huh...” 

The adrenaline has worn off, and he’s stopped yelling. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, not necessarily angry, just tired. So, so, tired, and a little bit sad.

“Alright, I'm sorry.” 

A flash of blue in Wilbur’s peripheral vision catches his eye, only now becoming visible in the new daylight. He crouches down and pinches the small flower at the base of the stem, cutting it off. He stands back up and places it in his pocket, careful not to crush any of the petals. 

“Come on, let's just go home.”


End file.
